


To Fight Giants

by MarauderCracker



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Finn's Family, Force Visions, Force-Sensitive Finn, Post-Star Wars: The Force Awakens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 15:43:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6014662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarauderCracker/pseuds/MarauderCracker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't remember reconditioning, but his muscles twitched for no reason for weeks, and he felt dizzy and nauseous when he tried to think of the woman, of the planet with three suns. The injury on his shoulder scarred, and he didn't dream again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Fight Giants

Settlement GTF-3, where the F-batch spends two cycles of their training, is a cold planet. An endless tundra with barely any native flora or fauna, with barely anything besides the grey, square buildings of the barracks. There must be something in the air, some sort of chemical in the atmosphere that dulls the colors and makes breathing just a little harder. He wants to take the helmet off --he doesn't.

There is one tiny, dying sun nearby, but it doesn't provide any heat. It's just an angry, red circle in the sky --like an eye, or like a target. There are words he knows but can't exactly define --words he's heard in recordings of civilian chatters or read in old Empire literature, words like  _omen_. An omen, he'll learn years from now, is an event that people take as a portent of good or evil. Omens are for the superstitious and the faithful and he doesn't know of superstition or faith yet, so he doesn't look for signs or fortunes in the stars. 

The red sun agonizes. Its light weakens steadily and then, every ten or twenty standard days, flickers back to its full intensity in an angry spurt of fire. The planet is still cold. 

They aren't allowed to add any extra layers to their uniforms. They are supposed to adapt to every climate, they are supposed to always respect regulations. He dreams of a planet with warm, soft sand, three suns over a wild sea. They aren't supposed to dream.

In the dreams, the three suns fuse into one small, red, sputtering star. The sand grows cold. The ocean freezes. The sun explodes, and the planet is devoured by fire. Years later, when he knows the meaning of faith, he'll think back of the dreams and wonder if that is what an omen is supposed to be.

 

He tastes salt on his lips. For a bright, white second he is blind --there is nothing but burning light and the salt that sticks to his chapped lips, clings to his tongue, itches at the back of his throat. The sound rushes in a second later. The ocean hums and growls, the waves grow into towering giants and slowly fade until they are caressing his calves, sighing against the shore. The light is now three bright suns shining on a green sky.

"Our child deserves to live in a world without fear," a voice says, and he has to make an effort to drag his eyes away from the suns. He looks for the person speaking --turns on his tiptoes and he can feel the soft sand slipping through his toes, the water pushing him in the right direction. To his right, closer to the shore, a young human woman dips her feet in the cool waves. "But I can feel it --the anger, the hatred, the resentment. I can feel them growing bigger and closer. Our child--" 

Her skin is so dark it's almost purple, her eyes black like the second without stars that comes right before a ship gets out of hyper space. Her thin blue robes dance around her body. 

"Our child will never know war," the man standing by her side says --promises. His hair is drying slowly under the hot suns, soft waves tightening into tiny curls that frame his face like a halo. His skin is a warm brown, covered in freckles, and his smile is soft and comforting. The woman tries and fails to smile. 

"I dream of my mother. I dream of-- She tells me there is a black hole growing at the heart of the galaxy, a hunger that will eat us alive. She's carrying me with one of her arms and holding--" she chuckles, a tiny sound that doesn't actually hold any amusement to it. "She's holding a lightsaber, like some kinda... some sort of Jedi."

The woman turns --or is he that turns? She's closer now, but she hasn't moved, and he can't remember himself walking. She's looking straight at him and the sand is dry under his feet and the ocean is a blue line meters away from them. She's holding her hands over her stomach protectively, as if trying to shield the life growing there from the darkness approaching. 

"But the Jedi are just legends, and the galaxy is collapsing onto itself." There is blood on her blue robes, dark red blood shining on her fingertips. She raises a hand, reaches to touch his face. "Oh, Daveed, I'm so sorry."

He wants to ask something (who is Da--?) but the salt is burning his throat, the suns are burning his eyes, there is a woman holding a child to her chest with her left arm and wielding an orange lightsaber with her right, there is a fire burning at the base of his spine.

 

Softness, like weeds, must be ripped out from its very root.

Late in the dark barracks there are whispers. They will soon reach their ninth standard cycle and be sent to another training base. They'll be finally be allowed to train with real blasters --Nines is delighted about the prospect. They'll start wearing the armor all the time, like real stormtroopers do. They (Zeroes' voice gets just a little louder) might get to train aboard a Star Destroyer.

He doesn't weigh in on the rumors. He doesn't really do much talking --not because he's shy or scared, but because he's not very good at faking excitement or interest. He doesn't care for blasters or uniforms, and he knows they wouldn't believe him if he said he does. Late in the dark barracks, after Nines and Zeroes have gone to sleep, he turn to FN-2003 and whispers, do you think we'll get to see civilians? do you think there'll be new fauna?

During his ninth standard cycle, he learns how to let his shoulder shift smoothly as the blaster kicks back, how to take a hit to the sternum and get back his breathing in no time. He doesn't get to see civilians, or new fauna. FN-2003 slips and twists his ankle, and he learns that he's not supposed to help him walk. "If he can't take the pain, he'll be decommissioned," their training officer says.

Two weeks before the F-batch reaches their tenth cycle, FN-2568 breaks a leg. He learns what  _decommissioned_ means. He learns that, when a body is pushed out of a Star Destroyer in hyperspace, it looks like a star for a second.

Not even the dreamless hours are silent. He hears --he listens. He can't feel anything outside of the confines of his body, but it feels as if his ears were trying to make up for all the other senses at once. He hears the soft hum of droids' inner mechanisms. Boots rushing over hard duracrete, bare feet on cold tile floors. The whisper of plants growing. Hundreds, thousands of voices whispering, singing, arguing, praying, A cluster of steady heartbeats around him, slow but sure, unwavering. 

The hearts, he learns, belong to people. People who, like him, are sleeping. He guesses he's sleeping. He can't seem to wake up, but the others aren't waking either. He knows this because the med-droid says so, their metallic voice trying and failing to sound softer as they say "I'm sorry, Mister, we don't know when-- if she'll be waking up. The metal fragments we removed from her frontal cort--"

There is a sound that he can't identify at first --something between a gasp and a gag, a choked-up noise that slowly dissolves into a desperate sob. "I'm sorry, sir," the droid says. 

The sounds fade away slowly, and he falls inside a dream. The woman from the beach is sleeping, a droid tells him that she might never wake up. He listens to her heart beating restless, untamed.

 

By his seventeenth cycle he learns just how much pain he can withstand and still be functional. As they are walking out of the training room, FN-2003 slips and drops the vibroaxe, still on, on his unarmored shoulder. They start their endurance training at the beginning of their twelfth cycle (he knows how to swallow down the scream that bubbles up his throat).

As the axe burns its way past the thick fabric of his black undershirt, past his skin, through the trapezium, a wave of color fills his sight, bright red and burning white and a dark purple like the nausea that follows the first wave of pain. He pulls away from the axe --hears "turn that off" and "pass me... get me a cloth" and he doesn't even realize it's his own voice through gritted teeth until Nines is pushing a towel into his hands.

He keeps pressure on the wound as he stumbles his way out of the training area. His fingers are sticky with blood by the time he reaches medical, he's not even sure he can feel the pain anymore. A droid asks " _identification?_ " and he passes out.

 

The jungle is hot and humid, a whirl of greens, yellows and reds as he tries to make his way through it. It feels as if all of his training had been whipped clean of his head: he catches on roots and branches, stumbles and actually falls more than once. His breathing is getting erratic and there are blurry patches of pain all over his torso --he's out of shape, he thinks, and pushes through.

There is a tree waiting for him at the edge of the jungle. He's not sure of how he knows this (was it his mission? is he on a mission? why isn't he wearing his armor?) but he has to get to it, he _must_. There is something like a low hum that vibrates across the ground and guides his path.

Under the tree --he doesn't know how long he's walked, only that his knees are scrapped and there is a pain like needles between his ribs and he can see the end of the jungle already, he's there, he's standing at the very edge of the tree's shade-- there is a man. There is a metallic hand outstretched, fingers extended like an invitation. "Please, do sit," the man says. There isn't much room for choice in dreams, but the mans still asks, and he feels calm washing over him as he accepts.

They spend a long time just sitting under the tree's gentle shade, watching the pink sun move across the sky. At some point he looks to the man and finds that the woman from the world with three suns is occupying his place, sitting with her legs crossed and a peaceful expression on her face. He notices that her nose is wide and flat, that there is a long thin scar along her cheekbone. A movement in the jungle catches his eye and, when he looks again, the man is smiling softly at him.

"Your family has been torn between choice and destiny for longer than their blood can be traced," he says. His voice is gentle and sad, like he's apologizing for his every word. Like he's been carrying prophecies on his shoulders since long before birth. "I'm afraid fate has caught up with you, Daveed. Or is it Finn, the name you have chosen for yourself?"

He blinks and there is the woman, reaching a bloody hand towards his face, letting her sticky fingers hover just a millimeter away from his cheek. "All I wanted was for you to be safe and free. All I wanted..."

 

He doesn't remember reconditioning. He remembers waking up from a dream --he'd been dreaming of the planet with the three suns and the woman had touched his injured shoulder with soft hands and her eyes had filled with tears, she'd whispered something in a language that sounded nothing like Basic and yet he understood the anger in her words. He remembers waking up with her curses in an unknown tongue falling from his own lips. He remembers the cold, sterile walls of medical, the droid's blank visor. He remembers thinking of Captain Phasma's words.

"Dreams are an error in programming, and they must be fixed."

He doesn't remember reconditioning, but his muscles twitched for no reason for weeks, and he felt dizzy and nauseous when he tried to think of the woman, of the planet with three suns. The injury on his shoulder scarred, and he didn't dream again.

 

"He's healing remarkably well, General," a metallic voice says. There are steps, whispers, the constant whirring of droids and machines working around the place. "We stopped the sedatives three days ago, so he could be waking up any day now."

A soft hum, and then a human speaks --it takes him a second to recognize General Organa's voice. "Is there any particular reason he _hasn't_  woken up yet?" She doesn't speak like any of the Generals in the Order --her voice is soft and concerned, weighed by a sadness that he can feel like water in his lungs. 

"There... there is no evidence of brain damage, and the few nerves that were damaged near his spine healed days ago. But," the droid hesitates, and they let out a whirring sound before continuing, "he does show some very unusual brain activity."

The silence that follows stretches for so long that he wonders if maybe he's fallen back into the depth of his dreams. Then, a soft hum and--

"It's the Force, Gee-five." There is a blur of warm expanding from where, he thinks, his forehead should be. A sweaty palm and calloused fingers that caress his brow and send a vibration across his body, like a beacon. "He'll wake up when the Universe finds he's ready, or when he decides he doesn't care what the Universe wants."

The touch slips away from him, and he sinks into darkness again.

 

Hyperspace is a swirl of light and dark, stars moving so fast he almost feels stuck in time. He doesn't remember falling asleep --he was listening to Han and Chewbacca talking just a second ago, he was watching BB-8's anxious rolling around. Suddenly he opens his eyes to a sky with no sun and no stars, a sky so bright he can barely stand to look at it, a sky so green he cannot look away.

When he finally manages to drag his eyes from the light above, he has to wait for a few seconds until he can see anything but shadows. He blinks once, twice, and then the dark silhouettes become people. Some are humanoid, some are creatures he has never seen before, not even in holovids. They are standing around, all of them silent, but not in formation. Their grief spreads through the air like a fog, clutches at his throat. 

"We are here gathered to mourn the loss of our children, siblings and parents in the Hosnian system. The Republic lives not in the Senate, but in its people, and its people we have lost." The person talking is out of sight, hundreds of people away from where he is standing, but he feels their every word vibrating down his bones. People bow their heads, some extend their hands for others to hold. "The Resistance sent a communication today. They will not stop fighting, and neither will us."

Someone raises their fist in the air, someone yells "to the Resistance!", there are cries in languages he doesn't understand. "To the Resistance! To Princess Leia!" The people cheer and it's not a cry of celebration, but its strength is undeniable. He feels a shiver down his spine. 

"Hey, kid. Finn.We're at the base," Han says, shaking his shoulder. The sky out of the window is blue. He doesn't have time to dwell on the fact that this was his first dream in years. First, he has to save his friend. He has to get Rey back.

 

"My mother was a soldier, you know? She died defending the Republic she believed in, she died because she thought she could give me a life better than hers." The woman cleans her blaster slowly, methodically, only ever looks away from it to glance at the baby sleeping in a cradle next to her. "I don't want to die in a war, Jonah. I just want our child to be happy."

The man with the freckled face and the warm eyes --Jonah-- holsters his own blaster and gives her a tired smile. "We survived one war already. We just got--" 

The child stirs and whimpers, but only Jonah moves to pick it up. The woman looks up instead. "I was a soldier like my mother before me, because I hoped I could give you a life better than mine." She holsters her blaster and stands up with ease. At her side, Jonah is holding the baby in his arms. "Because I hoped that I could shield you from the Darkness spreading across the galaxy."

For the first time in his life --for the first time he can remember-- he talks back to her. He wants to say a million things (thank you, I know you fought until your last breath, I'm not sure that I would be able to hug you if I tried but I want to try, thank you, thank you) but what comes out of his mouth is "what is your name?"

She lets out a sigh. "My name is Iara. You knew this, once, before they erased the memories from your brain and crippled your connection to the Force." She moves closer, so close they are almost touching, so close he realizes they are about the exact same height, so close he can see the tears welling up in her eyes. "My sweet boy, I never wanted you to be a soldier. I'm so sorry," she whispers, and he remembers. 

The woman --Iara-- is his mother. His mother who fought against the Empire. His mother who emptied her blaster as she shouted for Jonah to run, to hide, to keep their child away from the Order. His mother who loved him until his last breath, and loved him still after. "You did everything you could," he says, because he knows it to be true. "And I'm no longer a soldier. I'm a rebel, like my mother before me."

 

For a bright, white second he is blind --he has to squint against the fluorescent lights, but he doesn't open his eyes to a sky with three suns and an ocean that no longer exists. The Resistance's medical bay is metal and rock, a cave turned into a bunker for the convalescing. The hand clasping his wrist is not General Organa's. 

"Finn, hey, pal, you are awake! Gee-five! He's awake!" Poe Dameron smiles brightly at him. "I'm going to get General Organa, I'll be back in no time!" There is a squeeze around his arm and then Poe is dashing out of the infirmary. A medical droid approaches him making soft whirring noises and offers him a glass of water. Finn smiles up at them. 

"Thank you," he manages to rasp out.


End file.
